


Rekindling a Forgotten Bond

by coffee_ksare



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Elementary Schooler Keith, Elementary Schooler Pidge, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Keith goes through some tough life road, Please comfort Shiro, Shiro Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 17:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12731373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_ksare/pseuds/coffee_ksare
Summary: Shiro is just an ordinary high school student working at a stationery store.Akira is an elementary school kid who only ever buys Voltron bandages.Shiro begins to worry about the excessive amount of Voltron bandages bought. No one seems to worry, so someone has to.This work is a part of the Shiro Big Bang Event! http://voltronbigbang.tumblr.com/





	Rekindling a Forgotten Bond

**Author's Note:**

> This is Sullivan. I joined a Big Bang last summer for a TV show series I had recently gotten into. Hope everyone enjoys this because I sure have. The BB was a blast and I hope to have the leisure to participate in it once again!
> 
> The artists who have collaborated with me:  
> @aether-staza (Tumblr)  
> @bedwithpills (Tumblr)  
> https://aether-staza.tumblr.com/post/167514587450/rekindling-a-forgotten-bond-by-coffeeksare-shiro  
> Please check them out! They did an absolutely wonderful job of the artwork.

The stationery shop grew barren save for a few lingering students despite being opened for as long as cram school goes on. A box of bandages was picked up from the second aisle, right at the left end. The kid placed it down on the cashier’s counter without sparing a single glance at the colorful notebooks and pens of all different thicknesses. The shorter boy rummages through his battered red wallet, looking for coins. Shiro observed his bold wallet whose color was starting to fade away. His eyebrows were creased as he searched for the right amount of money and he blew away his long jet black bangs as they fell down towards his eyes in annoyance. Shiro felt his shoulders droop down from exhaustion, he rolled them up to force himself to straighten his back. That’s when an older teen, probably about Shiro’s age, walked up to the kid.

“Hey, you found what you needed, bud?” the lean, tanned boy rests an arm on the shorter boy’s shoulder. “Allura’s waitin’ for us so she can start the meeting.”

The latter shrugs the taller boy’s arm off with a scowl as the other laughs, it’s clear that the two are close. The kid quickly counts up the bronze and silver coins, nods and mutters an “Okay.”

After Shiro finds the boring white and black barcode on the box of bandages, he scans the item and calls out the price. Of course, the little kid hands him the exact amount of money and picks up his goods.

“You don’t need a plastic bag for your Voltron bandages?” Shiro lifts up a small plastic bag before the two boys turn their backs on the counter.

The kid shakes his head and answers “No, ‘s fine,” politely and the two of them leave the stationery shop.

That night, Shiro sweeps up the floor of the shop, replaces and rearranges the products and readies himself to close the shop. He checks all the aisles twice, seeing if anything else is misplaced. Then, he gives the shop one good look over every nook and cranny. He even checks the corners of the shop personally. Finally, after feeling satisfied with his clean-up, Shiro turns off the lights, leaves the shop and locks it. Shiro walks up to the station to catch the last train, feeling the night wind blow past him.

The thought of why the kid bought a box of Voltron bandages is long gone by the time he is on the train home.

 

* * *

 

Today, it is in broad daylight when the little kid comes back to the stationary store. Shiro sees a small group of high school students from Gekkoukan High school outside the store chatting. He supposes those are the people the kid has been with. He looks back at the kid and sees he is adorned in scars on the side of his cheeks unlike his last visit. Not to mention, there are scrapes and scratches all over his arms and legs as well. This obviously catches Shiro’s attention to actually observe him properly.

The young customer scans the second aisle, the left side, for another box of bandages with his battered red wallet clutched in one of his hands as Shiro greets him, “Welcome back. Getting more Band-Aids today too?”

All Shiro gets is a small, firm nod as he reaches out his hand for the box of Voltron bandages. “You know, I’m sure there are convenience stores around this street that sells Band-Aids cheaper than here. So what are you doing here?”

The kid starts walking up to the counter with his box of bandages until he spots a bottle of disinfectant and turns. Shiro has never understood why there were disinfectants in a stationary store in the first place.

He observes the variety of bottles for hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol. “This is the only place that sells Voltron Band-Aids.”

“Is that so?” Shiro places his elbows on the counter, and hums. “But why Voltron? Can’t buy Band-Aids if they’re Batman or Disney Princesses?”

After selecting a light blue bottle of some sort of disinfectant, the kid walks up to the counter making Shiro lift his elbows. The younger of the two places his items on the counter and opens his wallet.

 

Although he shrugs it off, he comments, “I like the Red Lion; red’s my favourite colour.”

 

His voice is monotonous and full. Despite the fact he is probably only around ten years old, he sounds like he should be moving on to junior high.

While Shiro scans the barcodes on his items, he begins to start staring at the kid and back at his purchased things. Unlike last time, he swishes a white plastic bag in the air, holding the handles, and gently places the items inside without asking. Shiro is about to hand the bag to the kid, except he decides to stall time a little.

“So…” he drawls, “what’s up with all the slashes and scrapes? It’s 1100 yen, by the way.”

The kid tilts his head sideways a little and forms a tiny crease with his eyebrows as if he is in deep thought. His final answer is “Nothing,” and he hands the coins to Shiro’s open palm.

Shiro hums in response as he counts up the two 500 yen coins and the other one 100 yen coin for a total of 1100 yen. A comment of “Alright,” slips from his lips to conclude his interrogation. He hands the younger boy his plastic bag and the kid takes his leave.

The last thing Shiro hears before he leaves is a small “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro is a student as a second year at Gekkoukan high school. He is the student council’s assistant for the president, Kirijo Mitsuru. She is someone who can influence just about anyone in the whole school with her elegance and intelligence. He admires Kirijo, not because of her gorgeous looks, but because of how she can handle multiple tasks at once. He is sure she has a life of her own outside of school, yet she is responsible for most of the decisions made by student council and the work of bettering our school. However, she is a third year this time around and she will no longer be at Gekkoukan High in spring.

The talk of who the next student council president will be is floating around from classroom to classroom. Some think Odagiri Hidetoshi is fit for the position, but most believe he is too uptight and others think Shiro should be the president. Yet, he cannot fathom to see himself in a position as high as that.

“Shiro, you are like, the only one in this whole wide school that probably thinks that,” his bespectacled friend comments.

The two are walking together to Port Island Station for the monorail. They pass the cute little flower shop and the giant movie theater on the way. Shiro sighs facing the posters of a Japanese animation movie and a Disney movie.

“You don’t understand, Matt,” Shiro points at himself with exasperation. “Who would want to have me as student council president? I mean, Odagiri is obviously a better choice than someone who is a total pacifist. I’m way too passive and, really, I’m in student council because Kirijo asked me directly if I wanted to join.”

Frankly, Shiro could go on and on about his fallacies if not for Matt who always stops him in the middle of his rant. Seeing Shiro demoting himself, Matt casually changes the subject as they approach the stationary store Shiro works.

“Well, even if you’re a total pacifist, you still care about the kid that buys Band-Aids from you regularly,” Matt comments.

“Just because I’m a pacifist doesn’t mean I can’t worry about a kid flashing red, warning lights at me. I mean, he comes back with new scratches and bruises every time,” Shiro rebuts.

Shiro opened his black school bag and slipped his hands inside the bag while the other hummed in response. After rummaging through the bag, his hand emerges into the open along with a small silver key in his palm. Then, Shiro starts sliding the key in the keyhole.

Matt crosses his arms across his chest eyeing the key. “Okay, you’re right, but why? What’s your reason for worrying about the kid?”

Right when the orange haired friend’s question ends, the keyhole clinks and a moment of silence passes by the two teenagers. Shiro tries to find an answer in his mind, but fails and sighs.

“I just,” he pulls out the key and spins it around on his index finger, “do.”

 

* * *

 

There is a student wandering the hallway, swerving from right to left like a drunkard. The student’s long brown hair is a curly mess and her uniform is not worn properly. Some students stare as they walk past this girl. Their faces transform into a look of disgust, pity or small frown. Some students do not even waste time to give the girl a glance. Shiro just knew by tomorrow he would not be seeing her in school.

The student council members were sitting around a large rectangular table. No one dared to crack a smile or slip a joke or two in the conversation: this was an important matter they were discussing. Odagiri was the first to address the topic to the group.

“Over the past few months, Apathy Syndrome has only been increasing throughout Iwatodai. Researchers are studying on how to cure their bizarre manner and the media’s coverage is just plain ridiculous. Our job as the student council is supposed to make the school safe from this nonsense.”

Many members offer suggestions on the matter, but countless of them have been shot down.

_“We could try putting them in a separate classroom for the day?”_

_“And where would we get the teacher_ s?”

_“How about pairing them up with a buddy for classes so they actually learn something?”_

_“I don’t think anybody wants to be with a student with Apathy Syndrome for the whole day.”_

_“We can just ignore them, you know?”_

_“You say that and you call yourself a member of the student council?”_

The student council meeting had been in session for twenty minutes by the time everyone’s brain was short circuited. Once again, the silence crept into the classroom and the atmosphere had turned heavy. Shiro was sitting in his chair, rigidly, and he dared not move his arms from the table. His back ached of maintaining a straight posture and his face was looking down on his crossed fingers. His mind was busy with formulating a way to announce his opinion, but the words just would not create a sentence. One sentence after another, Shiro took in a deep breath and exhaled. He mustered up the courage to move his hand and speak.

”For now, we should send the students with Apathy Syndrome home, so the parents do not worry about where their child goes wandering. And since they do not seem to have a functioning mind at the moment with their condition, this would be the safest option.”

All eyes were on Shiro, yet he did not feel a single tinge of distress or discomfort. Surprisingly, his arms seemed free to move around leisurely, his back no longer seemed to cry of exhaustion and his face was up, looking at everyone. After a brief moment, Odagiri put out a long, relieved, sigh.

“Finally, a plausible idea,” he says as he slowly pushes himself up from the chair.

The other members begin to comment on Shiro’s new idea and shuffle around their seats. Hands are active with gestures and the faces of the students are animated. However, the nice atmosphere does not last very long: a shocking yell is heard outside the classroom. The yell is not simply angered, but of frustration and pain.

“You take that back.” The boy with a red vest and short light gray hair has his fists clenched. His voice is nothing but firm.

The other student simply laughs as he takes a step backwards. “What? It’s probably true. I mean, how else could he have died if not for the stupid ‘revenge website’? Suicide?” He stares right back at the other, slit-eyed.

“Don’t talk about him that way. You know _nothing_ about him.”

“Oh yeah? Well how ‘bout you? I bet you didn’t know half the things he did in the back alleys. You’re nothing more than me, a person who knows _nothing_.”

There are students surrounding the two boys during their argument. The student council members are trying to clear the students away. Some are stressed by the sheer amount of spectators and some are just shocked and paralyzed. As Shiro sends the spectators away, all he hears are murmurs and the argument in the background; he cannot even hear his own voice.

Suddenly, Shiro sees the fist of the gray haired boy move up. As he sees the fist going for the other student’s face, all Shiro can think is ‘oh no’. The only thing he had heard about the guy with the red vest was that he was the school’s boxing champion. That alone gives him red warning lights in his mind. Before he knew it, the punch had landed and a fight was rising into action.

Then, without thinking, Shiro bolts to the two students bathed in the spotlight with a shout. His hands are on top of each student’s shoulder, trying to pull them apart. He spouts some plea to stop them from fighting, but they are only heard as nonsense to the two. The two boys are still swinging their fists, shirts fisted and cheeks bruised. Out of nowhere, Shiro feels the contact of a punch on his left cheek for only a second or two; the next thing Shiro sees is the hallway’s floor. Shiro tastes the metal from the flooding blood in his mouth. It is not a taste he is too familiar with and the words ‘awful’ and ‘oh god’ were floating inside his head. Yet at that moment, all he cared about was the fact that none of his teeth were wiggly.

The two boys, surprised at the turn of events, stood still in shock. Neither dared to say a word as a tall, elegant figure came storming closer. The person stood with their arms crossed, glaring with their sharp, angular eyes. It was the student council president, Kirijo Mitsuru.

“Fushimi, could you and Mr. Ekoda please take him to the office and report what happened?” Kirijo asked with a commanding voice.

With a squeak and high pitched ‘of course’, Fushimi and a nearby teacher scurried off to the office with one of the student in the fight. Shiro watched those three walk off as Odagiri helped him stand. Right now, Shiro’s mind was a complete blank. It was as if he knew what happened, but he could not view the scenes of the fight in his mind.

“You’re too nice,” Odagiri states as his eyes bore straight into Shiro’s, “you have to be more aggressive.”

Odagiri then leaves after patting his left shoulder to clear the hallways from the rest of the gossiping students. His fellow student council member’s comment strikes him right on bull’s-eye and he cannot do anything but accept because he knows it is true. For his classmates, he is kind, gentle and always willing to help. His classmates have barely heard him raise his voice, but they know he can somehow control others as he is a natural leader. However, he is nothing but that to them, so people may be shocked if he were to bring out his other side: the side that nobody knows. Except Matt.

Well Matt – he is a little different. His bespectacled friend had known him since they were seven in third grade. In front of him, he feels no need to pretend or cap his urges to scream at times and the moments where he screams internally is decreased. During the extra years the two had known each other, Shiro had already shown him his stressed out look, the dozens of cups of coffee he drinks to finish an essay, the distress when he accidentally tipped a vase off the table and the groans he makes when he misses the last train home. Around Matt, Shiro is simply Shiro.

_“Akihiko, what the hell was with that fighting? We have math next and the bell’s ‘bout to ring, so c’mon.”_

_“Tch. You heard what he said, Allura. I should’ve punched him square in the face.”_

_“Yeah yeah, keep walking. If that guy says something like that again, I’ll punch him for ya.”_

 

* * *

 

It is Saturday in the evening and Shiro is working at the stationery store like another normal day. Five days has passed since he was punched in the cheek by another student. He is glad that the bruise has died down and is no longer visible by this point. He does not want the customers to think he is a delinquent. His shift ends in two hours and he is left in the store thinking why he is here when he has an essay to write.

After ten minutes pass, the kid from last time is back; however this time, he is not totally covered in bruises and scrapes, yet there are the occasional bandages on his cheeks and fingers. The kid walks over to the second aisle to pick up a box of Voltron bandages once again. Then, he comes back to the first aisle and picks out some fruit taffy and chocolate bars.

“Hey, welcome back,” Shiro greets, “are those snacks for those high schoolers you were with the other day?”

The kid nods his head and resumes picking out packets of fruit flavored gum. He browses the various flavors and decides on lemon and peach. He then approaches the counter, arms full of candy topped off with a box of bandages. Shiro is scanning the barcodes on his items when he hears a small ‘oh’ from the kid. Shiro hums in a questioning matter.

“Does your store happen to have a goggle-eyed idol? I think it’s a doll or something.” The kid looks up at Shiro with round eyes, earnestly.

Shiro ponders in his head for a second, “No, don’t think so.” He wonders why he would need something like that in the first place. “You could go to that antique shop at Paulownia Mall.”

The little child is in deep thought while murmuring something about a deadline.

“Anyways, why’re you hurt again?”

This brings the attention of the kid back. “It’s better if you don’t know.“

Shiro sighs and the kid starts to stare at him as he blabbers on and on about his safety.

“Are you getting bullied by someone at your school? You have to tell someone responsible, like your teacher, if that is the case. Or you could tell me. I mean, you always come here to buy bandages and at this point, I don’t think it’s that big of a surprise you come here with new scars every day.”

Shiro does not hear anything escape from the kid’s mouth. He only feels the stare of the kid while he puts his purchased items in a plastic bag. He does not know why he is even saying these things to a kid he knows nothing about. He just feels the need to worry about him.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if there were Voltron Galra Band-Aids?” Shiro stops mid speech and just stares at the kid, “Galras are so underrated.”

Shiro just shuts up in confusion and does not bother to say a word.

 

* * *

 

A week has passed and the kid had been coming back to the store almost every day, buying Voltron bandages. Although today, he is looking at actual stationery items such as pencil crayons and sketchbooks. He is walking down the third aisle, looking at packs of pencil crayons, with a notebook sized sketchbook under his arm. While watching him look at pencil crayons, Shiro realized that even after months have passed, he did not know the kid’s name. For all he knew, his name could be Kaito or even Shinichi.

“Kid, what’s your name?”

The kid turns his to face Shiro and hums; his amethyst eyes shimmer with excitement. “Can my name be Haggar?”

Shiro’s face transforms into confusion and the kid suddenly depletes. “Wait, I can’t. Haggar’s a woman. Then,” he hums and jumps up like a light bulb just lit above his head. “I want to be Thace – He’s equally awesome.”

“No, your real name. Not who you want to be,” Shiro restates, baffled.

“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t refer to myself as Thace.” Shiro sighs in exasperation.

“Look, I am not calling you Thace if I see you outside somewhere like school.”

“Then… Galra! I love them, so calling me that isn’t an insult.” The kid suggests full of mischief.

“That’s just not how it works, okay?”

Shiro was beginning to be annoyed by their small conversation. Asking people what their name is was supposed to be easy. At least it was easy in Shiro’s book.

Reluctantly, Shiro ends up saying his name first. “Well, I’m Shiro just so you know. What do you need the pencil crayons for?”

The kid picks a packet of 24 color pencil crayon and walks up to the counter where Shiro is. He sets down his pencil crayons, sketchbook and box of Voltron bandages.

“I’m making a kaleidoscope for Elizabeth. My deadline’s in a week.” He says bluntly.

As Shiro scans the sketchbook, he hears the kid mumble wondering if this Elizabeth would accept a handmade kaleidoscope. Then, a soft laugh escapes from the kid’s lips.

“Hey, you could call me Theodore – that’s Elizabeth’s brother’s name.”

Hearing that comment, Shiro had finally heard enough. “I am _not_ calling you Theodore either!”

Soon after Shiro raises his voice, Shiro immediately regrets it. He knew he should not have yelled at a little kid and he expects to see the kid scared or hear him crying. But none of those come and instead, he hears him laughing. His laugh is soft and gentle and it sends warmth to Shiro’s body.

“Call me Akira.” The kid crosses his arms. “This time it’s real.”

Shiro does not know why, but the sound of his laugh is somewhat familiar, yet his name does not ring a single bell in his head.

Later that day, in the evening, Shiro asks Matt if there were any Voltron Galra bandages being manufactured in Japan at the moment.

Matt replied there were not.

 

* * *

 

“Takashi! We have guests!” his mother called from down the stairs.

Shiro comes racing down the stairs, holding onto the railing on the side. He had just come back home from school due to club activities. He was preparing for the Sports festival of his third year of elementary school with other students assigned as a member of the committee.

Sitting on their family’s sofa were two adults, a friend of his own parents, and a serene baby in the arms of its mother. The baby is awake and scanning through the house. It has black, fluffy hair that looks as soft as cotton and purple eyes that resemble sparkling jewels. The baby’s mother looks up at Shiro with a small smile on her lips.

“His name is Keith.”

Keith, at the sound of his name tries to say something only for it to come out as gibberish in Shiro’s ears. He hears more and more of Keith’s voice throughout the years his parents meet up with theirs. He notices the gradual growth in Keith’s height and his communication skills. Shiro and Keith have hundreds of conversations together as they become childhood friends, yet one day, that all seemed to come to an abrupt stop.

Shiro arrives home and is taking his shoes off in front of the door. He hears his mom holding her tears back and his dad speaking to someone on the phone in a serious tone. When he rushes to the living room, he is waved away to his room. Full of worry, he goes up the steps of the stairs one by one, depleted of energy. He listens in on his dad’s conversation with the phone while sitting on the top of the stairs. Later that evening, Shiro hears his mother sob, her hands full of unstoppable big, fat tears and his father comforting her. During the night, he demanded an explanation of what happened from his father, but he did not gain much from their conversation.

“You’re too young to know everything.” His dad had told him.

There were little to no details during the conversation with his father, but he did manage to grab the gist of the situation: Keith’s parents had been in a car accident and only Keith had made it alive. After that incident, the only news Shiro heard from his parents were that Keith had been taken in by a different family and that was it from Keith. He never heard anything about Keith ever again from his parents. He did not know if he was still in Iwatodai or not nor did he know is he was doing well. All existence of Keith had been wiped from him. It was as if Keith had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Slowly, Shiro’s memory of Keith’s face was starting to fade and blur into an image of what he thinks he looks like bit by bit. By the time he hit high school, Keith was not even in his daily vocabulary. The only thing he knew was that Keith had black, fluffy hair and amethyst colored eyes.

 

* * *

 

Today is another day of student council meetings. The members are sitting around the large, rectangular table. They discuss about the recent death of a student from their school. The information known is very minimal. The members of the student council know that this student had been missing for a week prior to the time one of the patrol officers found their body lying in front of the school gates at two in the morning.

No one knows how the student died. Not even the police. There were no fingerprints, no signs of symptoms – nothing. It was a mysterious death. The police department was frustrated at the augmentation of these sorts of deaths. No matter how much overtime the officers worked, there was no information gained. If the police could not do anything, Shiro doubts the members of the student council could. The police officer at Paulownia Mall was not of any help either with his so-called ‘confidential information’.

At school, members of the student council are being insulted and yelled at by the other students in the hallway. Whether it is lunch time, break or when they are changing classrooms, there is not a single moment of silence in the hallways.

“We are doing the best we can. At least we are doing more then you guys, just walking around at school hollering at people.”

Without even seeing the person’s face, Shiro knows it was Odagiri who spoke a moment ago. Shiro does not blame Odagiri for his personality or how his nature is a magnet for arguments, but he does blame him for making things take a turn for the worse.

The student body retorts back to Odagiri in insults and mocks. Nothing is heard clearly from the jumble of voices from the crowd, but it was as if Shiro knew exactly what they were saying. The student council was near useless for these strange deaths. That was what Shiro heard.

“Quit it with the ‘doing your best’ crap. You’re doing nothing! I bet the student council president knows nothing too.”

Shiro glances at Kirijo and he sees her purse her lips tight, hands squeezing her arms. She is silent with a look of frustration. What startles Shiro and Kirijo from their silence is when a student in the crowd starts to throw a punch. The rest of the student body jumps in to join, shouting their battle cries at the top of their lungs. Quickly, Shiro rushes in front of Odagiri who is about to be knocked out. He makes it just in time to shove a surprised Odagiri out of the way and onto the floor while taking the solid blow. Shiro feels a sense of déjà vu from weeks ago. This time however, he has not fallen to the floor, but he still tastes the blood in his mouth. It is not gushing in the mouth like before, but the taste of metal is still not very pleasant to him.

Shiro takes a deep breath in, hands on his hips, face down. He exhales and brings his face up while putting one of his hands through his long fringe. There’s a curve on his lips to make the smallest smile and everyone just stares.

“We should stop, shouldn’t we?” Shiro suggests as he brings his hand down from his hair and back on his hip.

Shiro knows no one knows the answers to the mystery floating around and he knows everyone wants it. So really, there is no point in fighting, is there? The only thing they can do is wait patiently and wait for time to pass.

 

* * *

 

“Would you like Voltron Band-Aids or Gundam Band-Aids?” is what Shiro hears come out of Akira’s small lips.

The little boy looks up at Shiro full of worry, eyebrows creased and lips pressed. In each of his hands are the boxes of bandages he mentioned. Akira steps closer to the counter, holding the boxes of bandages, while focusing on Shiro’s bruise on his left cheek. Shiro acknowledges the fact that his left cheek is a shade of ocean blue and mysterious purple swirled together. The bruise aches a little at times periodically and it hurts when he lays even one finger on it. Though the stinging only lasted one day, which was the real pain. Shiro knows it is not pretty, but then again, when has he ever cared about his appearances?

Shiro gives Akira a soft smile and waves the bandages away. “I don’t need one. Thanks for offering though.”

Akira opens his mouth to retort, but a somber expression forms on Shiro’s face – the please-do-not-ask-anymore-questions-about-it face – and he closes his mouth back thinking he must have looked like a fish. Without further questions, Akira hurries to the second aisle, grabs a box of Voltron bandages, and returns to the counter. He searches for coins from his battered, red wallet after setting the box down.

As Akira rummages through his wallet with his pointer finger, Shiro turns the box of bandages for the back, scans the monotonous barcode. While he did all that, he observed Akira’s new bruises on his arms and the bandage of the Blue Lion stuck on the bridge of his nose. A vast amount of time had passed since Akira first came to the shop, in the same fashion as today, but he has yet to tell Shiro the source of his scars. This leaves Shiro wondering when he would hear Akira’s story.

A minute later, Akira hands Shiro coins and Shiro slides the box of bandages to him. Akira opens his side pouch, hanging on his hip, and shoves the box in. Shiro was about to say his goodbyes, thinking the boy was leaving, but Akira stood there, a hand slipped into his pouch. His hand shuffled through the pouch and came out with a fluffy, white puffball. Akira uneasy handed Shiro the puffball with hesitation.

“Here, it’s a Suff Soul. I don’t know if it’ll help since it only restores your magic skills, but I hope your bruise disappears soon.”

Staring down at this strange puffball, all Shiro could think about were the Puffles from Club Penguin. “It’s a puffball. And I can’t do any magic…?”

“What, you don’t think it’ll work?”

His comment put Akira into dejection and he saw Akira’s shoulders visibly slump down. Then, he suddenly bounced up with purple orbs wide. He shoves his hand back in the pouch and brings out a brown, clay, orb with a golden sheen.

“Then here, it’s a Bead. This one restores your health.”

Soon after handing Shiro the so-called Bead, Akira scurries out the store leaving Shiro, lips parted, puzzled.

 

* * *

 

In the dimly lit living room was Shiro’s mother on the sofa, the leather wrinkled from years of use, and his father stepping into the tiny brightness of the lamp from the front door. An announcer’s clear, refined voice came out of the television informing them of the recent news. Without a word, his dazed mother switches the television off, remote control pointing to the center of the screen, and Shiro hears a fatigued scowl from his father for the umpteenth time. The news nowadays was not something the Shirogane family needed to hear; they already knew the contents.

From the snippets of news of the car incident Shiro heard, he discovered the misfits of the puzzle piece. Two weeks have passed since the incident, yet the police have not gotten a single lead for the eerie case. Ostensibly, the car crashed exactly at twelve in the morning. However, the car’s black box went out of commission about two minutes in the replay. An hour passed by, screen jet black, with crackling sounds. The next thing shown was half the Moonlight Bridge destroyed, the debris piled up on top of the car forming a giant mountain. Chunks of the bridge were floating above the dark splashing ocean below, somewhat submerged in water. At 12:01AM, the police discovered the destruction at the bridge and found two adults in the car, dead for at least an hour. Furthermore, a young child of age five was curled up next to the side of the bridge, eyes boring into the crimson red flames enveloping the terribly broken car.

Shiro wishes he could have been with Keith during that unfortunate night. Keith was a friend; he was like a younger brother. The two were not merely friends, but childhood friends who raced each other in the field, ate meals together and shared laughs throughout the whole day. Yet, Keith was now long gone. Shiro has wanted to be by Keith’s side for years on that night. He wonders about all the possibilities that event could have ended in his mind full of should-haves, would-haves and what-ifs. He strongly believed if he was with Keith, he would have eased the crude situation even just a smidge. Slowly, as years passed and knowledge piled in Shiro’s head, his possibilities became much more bland and little. Soon enough, he only came to one conclusion: the incident was inevitable. Ultimately, Shiro knew that he would be another victim, lying dead, in the deserted, aflame car.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Akira returns to the stationery store waking up Shiro from his trailing thoughts of the

bizarre white puffball and the round, brown clay sitting atop his study desk. Shiro has not touched those items again since the day he received them from Akira. He could practically hear the items scream, waiting to be used.

Akira comes through the clear, glass door, a plastic bag hanging from his hand full of heavy items. Right after Akira enters, another young child steps in. The other kid has voluptuous orange hair, long bangs covering her eyebrows, with a side ponytail tied with a forest green handkerchief. Her face is decorated with a bright smile and round, milk chocolate brown eyes. The two children bolt to the front aisle, closest to the cashier’s counter and take a handful of assorted candy. In their arms, he sees various chocolate bars, gummy bears and fruit taffies. Shiro notices they have an affinity for sour candies, seeing as the gummy bears are actually Sour Patch Kids and the fruit taffies are lime and lemon flavoured.

In a flash, the two kids sprint to the counter with their arms full of candy. Shiro greets them and begins scanning the items selected and he slowly examines Akira for more bandages. However, before seeing any bandages, he comes to the realization that the orange haired girl standing beside Akira is familiar.

“Akira, is Pidge your friend?” Shiro asks carefully. He slows down his movements while scanning the items.

Akira and Pidge stare at each other for a full two seconds before a mischievous grin breaks out on each of their faces.

Akira hums, “More like my partner in crime.”

As the two of them snicker, Shiro could already feel the immense stress of worries that are soon to barge into his mind. To avert his mind from the soon-to-arrive horrible thoughts, Shiro questions what is in the plastic bag Akira is holding.

He holds up the plastic bag, opened, to reveal cans of drinks from the vending machine. “Pidge and I are going to try all twelve flavours of Cylon Tea.”

Shiro nods his head, his hands looking for the barcode on the gummy bear packs. An okay slips out of his lips before his mind processed the answer given.

“Wait, do you guys even know what the twelve flavours are?”

“Nah. The cans just say ‘Flavour One’, ‘Flavour Two’, ‘Flavour Three’ and so on. Even the buttons on the vending machine say that.” says Pidge as she waves her hand to the ground and counts with her fingers.

A minute later, Shiro hands the candy the two children bought in a plastic bag. The two of them chime in together to say ‘Thank you’ and ready themselves to exit the store. When Akira turns around, Shiro notices a line of Voltron bandages running from the top of Akira’s elbow to just above his wrist. The gash is decorated with all the different colors of the Lions.

Seeing the giant slash, Shiro calls out to Akira, “Hey! What’s up with your arm?”

Pidge and Akira halt in their steps and turn around in sync. Akira then looks at his arm, adorned in bandages with a monotonous expression.

“We got ambushed by a huge lion on a wheel with enormous spikes on the side.”

Speechless, Shiro just stares, his lips slightly parted. “Isn’t that impo-”

Before Shiro could finish his sentence, Pidge joins, “We got attacked by a pair of dancers holding a fencing sword as well. A huge heart was floating above their heads.

“If you’re asking me how, I don’t know either. I mean, it’s physically impossible to keep a giant heart floating above their heads. I’m pretty sure there weren’t any invisible wires attached to it. What ever happened to Newton’s law? It’s not like only the dancers are in space either.”

Listening to Pidge’s rant, Shiro is void of any other emotion besides confusion. There was no way those bizarre creatures were real. At least that is what Shiro is thinking. If they happened to be real, then Shiro would know the world was doing a 180 flip on him.

 

* * *

 

For once in the whole year, the students were ready for their homeroom teacher to walk in - maybe feeling impressed - to a silent classroom, every student present and seated. No one had walked in.

Being two minutes late? No big deal. Everyone can wait that long. Five minutes late? Certain students, including Shiro,  start being curious why the teacher is late. But still, five minutes is tolerable. However, seven minutes late? That’s when everyone begins to whisper around and chat with their friends or neighbours in the class about the issue. Sounds of whispers travel throughout the classroom and slowly, the voices grow louder and louder until a laugh erupts and chaos is initiated.

Chattering continued along with waves of laughter travelling within the classroom. Despite the noise level, the sudden click of the announcement had not escaped the ears of the students. One by one, the voices began to fade away, leaving their sentences midway. The person speaking through the announcements cleared his voice; it was the principal speaking.

“All students please report to the Main Gym. All students report to the Main Gym.”

Chairs were pushed behind, some in the desk and others not, and the giant blob of students trotted to the gym, their shoes tapping on the floor tiles.

The students of Gekkoukan High stood in the Main Gym looking up at their principal who was standing still in front of the podium with a black wireless mic. The principal bothers not to waste time on openings and jumps straight to the crucial information: he states Gekkoukan High had lost two students yesterday.

Immediately, panic fills Shiro from head to toe. An image of an orange blob and a lustrous silver gun pops into his mind. Connecting those two images together was not a pretty thought. While the principal drones on about condolences and shares his sorrow, Shiro concentrates on remembering the posts on the revenge site. He does not get much far though. He comes back to reality hearing the words “Apathy Syndrome”. Bubbles pop as if his brain was trying to release his worries, but unfortunately, they linger.

Shiro’s head is hanging down, eyes boring into the top of his feet. His ears are filled with the murmurs of the students surrounding him. If life was supposed to be rose-colored, it was not looking so rosy right now. Despite the black and white life he is living in, his mind refuses to wave the pure white flag. His head rises up and scans his whole surrounding, eyes wide open. Then his eyes lock onto another pair of amber eyes.

Breaths uneven, the two stare into each other for a brief moment. The  worries fly away from Shiro’s head as if it had dispersed into air. Matt and Shiro walk closer to each other without a single word. A quiet laugh erupts from them and Matt hangs his arm on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro cannot help but feel relieved. He wants to say the relief is from the students not dying from the revenge site, but really, he knows he is relieved because it is not Matt who is caught by either of those terrible cases.

 

* * *

 

By this point, all the members of the Student Council know their meetings are futile. Everyone is at a loss, expressions void of any emotions but frustration. No one pitches any ideas to resolve the strange problems and surely, everyone had their doubts pile into a tower. Ultimately, the members must have come to the realization that this _problem_ was not the school’s personal problem: it was the society’s problem. And their school? They just happened to be a part of their society; that was inescapable. But they could slowly become indifferent and that was exactly what happened. Thus, one by one, the members gathered their belongings and swiftly slipped out of the barren classroom as if nothing had ever happened.

 

* * *

 

December had made its way along with puffy white snow, covering the roads. At the end of December, Akira visits, adorned in scars. He shuffles his feet over to the bandage aisle, looking solemn. Silently, a box of Voltron bandages is picked up and he slides it across the counter to Shiro.

Shiro scans the item. “Something wrong?” He asks.

Immediately, Akira shakes his head, his hand clenching at his lustered coins. Shiro takes his coins and gently places the box of bandages in a plastic bag. As he hands the bag to the younger boy, he sees he is biting his lower lip, fidgeting with his hands.

Shiro slips out from behind the counter, locks the front door, shuts the lights and flips the Open sign over to Closed. He softly nudges Akira’s shoulders and guides him to an office and they both take a seat across the table from each other. A deep breath is taken in from Shiro. He exhales, lowering his arms and leans forward to look straight into Akira’s purple orbs.

“Akira, what’s happening?”

His voice was steady and firm. No signs of wavering were found. Just calmness. Words begin to spill from Akira’s lips, nonstop. His eyes flitted to every part of the office and his fingers never stopped fidgeting. He talks about climbing an endless tower of doom at midnight while the moon is humongous and eerily lime green. People across the streets are put into coffins and puddles of blood are what he steps in. Once he steps into the tower, he says he is greeted by a set of unusually waxed, clean stairs and a giant clock with needles tall and sharp enough to stab through your body. Each floor is a maze full of ominous black blobs and all he can see is his shadow from the moon and the monster blobs’ striking red eyes.

Shiro knows Akira is a terribly honest kid, yet he does not know whether to accept this splurge of incomprehensible information. More than half of his statement sounds unbelievable.

“Um… Is there someone I need to confront? Akira, if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone.”

Akira lowers his head down staring at the table.

“I-I need to call my sister.” Akira says voice quiet and frail.

“Tell me, Akira. Is there someone I need to confront?” Shiro repeats in a firmer voice.

The younger boy is silent as he slowly raises his head up to face Shiro. No words come out, but a tiny curve is created on Akira’s mouth.

“You’re like the Black Paladin in Voltron,” he states, “calm, collected, serious and nice.”

Akira laughs; he makes the sweetest sound Shiro has heard that day.

“You would be awesome at fighting Shadows even though you can’t. You would have been like a leader.”

His miniature smile only lasts for a couple of seconds until it dies down.

“The people I met while fighting Shadows are amazing. But, I wonder when I can stop.” Akira aimlessly taps his fingers against the table and his eyes are empty.

Shiro silently stares. He quietly takes a deep breath and says sternly, “Then, stop now.”

Immediately, Akira’s torso straightens up, eyes wide. He shakes his head vigorously as his hands curl into clenching fists.

“I can’t. I have to find out what happened to my mom.”

The air is filled with tension, yet it is eerily silent. Shiro can feel his heart drop off the Grand Canyon and drowning. He cannot bring himself to accept a reason like that when all he sees are scars after scars on Akira. He will not accept it just yet, but he will learn to respect it and that is exactly what he tries doing now. Shiro has yet to realize why he still cares for Akira, but perhaps it is because he sees Keith in him; he sees the fluffy, black hair and the purple jewels in both of them.

As far as Shiro knew, there was no one who worried for Akira. He had not seen anyone besides him after the first day he visited the stationery store.

So, someone has to.

 

* * *

 

Shiro is in a pitch dark area, feet atop checkered tiles. All he sees is a vibrant blue butterfly flying gracefully. He chases after the elegant butterfly only to see it fly away. Shiro chases and chases until it is no longer in sight. Suddenly, when he turns around, Akira is in the picture with the blue butterfly twirling around him. He does not know why, but Shiro finds the urge to reach out to Akira as if it was his last chance. However, Akira ends up falling to a pit of nothingness, a long yellow scarf following his downfall.

For the first time that year, Shiro leaves the house late and barely makes it on time for school. He shoves the door with a bang, completely out of breath. Matt has the biggest laugh of his life.

 

* * *

 

Nowadays, there is a rumor about something called The Fall at school. People believe this superstitious belief is coming closer our world. They think the ones who created that dreaded, god awful revenge website is the one who spread the word about The Fall. The end of the world is ostensibly nearing and everything is going to be destroyed. By this point, the Student Council has given up on these futile mysteries, yet the whole entire student body is in panic. Everyone thinks it is false and brushes it off as if it is no big deal. But, Shiro cares.

The television in the living room is running and Shiro stares nonchalantly into the screen. His homework is scattered across the low rise table in front of him, but he continues to listen to the news, his pencil gripped in his right hand and legs crossed on the sofa. The news reporter formally announces the discovery of another dead body found in the outskirts of Iwatodai. No gunshot wound was found on the victim’s body and the cause of death was unknown. Once again, mysterious and exactly show the other victims were found.  
  
When Shiro was younger, he remembers wanting to be a detective. That was when he got hooked onto the TV show Detective Conan. He would copy Kudo Shinichi and ask various questions concerning the homicides showcased on the news. Whenever the news came up on the living room television, he would be the first one sitting down on the sofa, notebook and pencil ready in his hands. Finally, after gathering enough courage to ask his parents about Keith’s incident, he was shot down in a single moment: They told him he did not have to know.  
  
Shiro could not understand the rejection of the topic. He wanted to know what had happened to his friend – his younger brother. He was not confused because he thought he had the right to know everything. That was not the reason at all. What Shiro could not understand was much purer than such a reason. He wanted to know what was wrong with being curious. All Shiro wanted to see Keith again.  
  
But he knew he could not.

 

* * *

 

Late at night, Shiro is at his wooden desk - the one he has had since fifth grade - with a table lamp lit atop his homework. There are books stacked on the top right corner of the desk and piles of paper in his To-Do file. As he works on his homework, the pencil lead slowly shaves down and eraser dust transforms into a small, prominent pile close to his pencil sharpener. Shiro glances back at the digital clock next to his bed; a fatigued sigh escapes his lips. He stretches his body while sitting on the chair and his phone rings from a notification. It was Matt who had messaged him. However, what first went to was not the message icon with a petit red bubble, but his call icon.

The call icon had notifies him of a missing call from a person in a different country. As he was about to close the call app, his eyes focused on one call history from a couple days ago during the night.

That call was addressed to Kirijo Mitsuru.

 

* * *

 

The clock strikes nine as Shiro returns the broom to the office. He walks over to the store entrance to turn off the open sign. However, outside is Akira standing in front of the door, trembling. Immediately, Shiro bolts to the entrance and lets Akira inside.  
  
Shiro scans Akira’s full body, top to bottom, and bends down with one knee on the floor. He looks straight into the little child’s purple eyes while holding him by the shoulders. Nothing Shiro says is going through Akira’s ears. Akira drones on about The Fall. A story of a familiar topic keeps spilling from his lips. He mutters about Nyx coming to destroy the world and an inevitable choice that was made.  
  
Once more, the two of them sit across each other from the office table. Wrapped around by Akira’s thin fingers is a Cylon Tea Shiro had received from school. The trembling does not stop until the the clock’s minute hand passes two.  
  
“Akira, you need to stop whatever you’re doing now.” Shiro orders in his best authoritative voice.  
  
Yet, Akira shakes his head in refusal. He raises his head to look at Shiro’s stormy gray eyes and his grip on the can grows tighter.  
  
“I have to know what really happened during that car crash!”  
  
Instantaneously, Shiro’s mind strikes to the incident on the Moonlight Bridge. His head begins to throb as if his mind is trying to put a puzzle together. However, he ignores the throbbing and continues to listen to Akira’s story.  
  
His story is full of mysteries he wants to solve; his story is exactly what Shiro wanted to know.  
  
Although Shiro is reminded that none of Akira’s business is his, he does not stop caring. Rather, he cannot stop because he was already involved in his business from the very beginning. Right then and there was when Akira and Keith started to click together.

 

* * *

 

Various occult groups worship Nyx throughout Japan and there are posters of Nyx on every block in of the shopping district as the end of January nears. Of course, easily half of Shiro’s work is chasing occult groups from the store and tearing down Nyx posters on the store windows and walls. Only a few hours had passed and the garbage bag was already a little more than half full.  
  
The door abruptly flies open to reveal a distressed Akira who has occults groups behind him, waving a recruitment poster to support Nyx. In his hand is a poster he was forced to take and his black hair is disheveled. Shiro brings out the giant garbage bag and Akira crumples and throws away the poster.  
  
During the time Akira recovers his breath, Shiro circles the store aisles to pick up trash left the customers. Instead, he gathers another handful of Nyx posters. As he returns to the counter, he bumps into Matt entering the store. Along with him is his younger sister, Pidge.  
  
The two younger children rejoice at seeing each other. Their lips form a curve and laughter escapes from them.  
  
“You here to get anything, Matt?” Shiro asks in lieu of a greeting.  
  
“Just a couple of pens. Mine ran out of ink.”  
  
Shiro hums and Matt browses the pens in the front aisle.  
  
“Anyways, the English homework is due Monday, right?” Matt inquires with a green and black pen in hand.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Shiro’s lips part open to say further things, but they are cut off by the two kids’ conversation.  
  
“Are we going to Tartarus tonight?” Pidge asks Akira.  
  
“We’re already strong enough to fight it, so yeah.” Akira’s voice is stable and firm.  
  
Pidge’s face is uneasy. “You sure we can beat it?”  
  
Something is off to the two other high school students. Matt interrupts the kids and questions their conversation’s topic.  
  
“Saving the world,” Pidge and Akira reply together.  
  
Hearing that, Matt and Shiro knew they had definitely missed something.

 

* * *

 

Shiro is in a dark tower only illuminated by the giant lime green moon up above from a humongous window. In one hand is a sleek katana and behind him are others with various other weapons. Him and his group ambush a jet black blob and begin to battle atop a checkered floor. As they fight, the chess-like floor is glossy without a single speck of crimson blood and the stairs that lead upwards is strangely radiant as if they are calling out to Shiro. He vaguely remembers having to decide whether to save the world or not; he decided to do so. But what he does not remember is saving the world.

 

* * *

 

Everything around Shiro is blue. A humongous clock is up above an old man that sits in front of him. Behind the old man are metal bars in an intricate design and beside is a young woman with a short bob cut. Shiro hears the cables running up above them and realizes the blue room is an elevator.  
  
The old man in front of Shiro has bulging, bloodshot eyes and he is dressed in a black suit. He bears a smile that shows all his teeth, his ears are pointed and his nose is unusually long. The young woman next to him has round golden eyes, dressed in all blue and topped of with a blue beret. Her outfit is an accurate depiction of an elevator lady. The lady is strangely gorgeous. Her honey eyes bore into his own gray ones as he sits on the blue sofa. Although she is beautiful, he feels an ominous aura drawing to him: he feels his body growing lighter and lighter as seconds pass. The only thing separating him and the two mysterious people is a round table covered in a blue table cloth. The clock continues ticking as Shiro feels his life drain away from his body. He lays lifeless on the blue sofa, hearing the old man’s dialogue.

“Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey, one is always aware that it lies in wait. Though life is merely a journey to the grave, it must not be undertaken without hope. Only then will a traveler’s story live on, treasured by those who bid him farewell."

A piece of paper with Shiro’s signature disintegrates from the old man’s hand. The cards of fate lie on the round blue table, never to be completed.

  
“But alas, now my guest’s life has ended, his tale left unwritten…”

 

* * *

 

A whole month flew past without Akira visiting the stationery store; Shiro nearly jumps from his battered stool behind the counter when he sees him. He bolts to Akira with distraught eyes on him from the other customers. At this moment, the most important thing was Akira; Shiro poured his whole attention to the younger child.  
  
One look at the kid tells he is half dead. His hair is messy and his uniform is crooked with creases everywhere. His shoes are completely worn out and somewhat floppy. The soles have grown thin, the laces are no longer snow white; no words are needed to describe Akira’s journey. Despite his tattered appearance, a casual smirk is plastered on his face. Shiro could not have been happier.  
  
“I found what I was looking for,” Akira states calmly. “I’m finally done.”  
  
Shiro holds Akira’s shoulder and brings him into a warm embrace. He whispers “Good,” into Akira’s ear and Akira raises his arms up to hug back. Their hug is gentle and tender. It lasts for a full three seconds, but Shiro felt like those three seconds were years.  
  
After letting go, Akira grabs a box of Voltron bandages from the aisle next to them. A thought shoots through Shiro’s head and he holds onto Akira’s shoulders once more.  
  
“Wait here!”  
  
He rushes to the office, grabs his school bag and hurriedly rummages through it. His hand hits a couple of notebooks, his pencil case; his empty lunchbox and finally, a petit box. Inside the box contained a favor he asked of his friend, Matt. Shiro pulled the box out and exited the office.  
  
Shiro stood in front of Akira, a tiny purple box in hand.  
  
“Here.” He passed the box to Akira’s small hand.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“Your beloved Galras in bandages.”  
  
Akira looks at the purple box and gives him a weird face. Yet, it quickly turns into a joyful laugh.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He then takes out an item that is tightly wrapped with a beige cloth from his pouch. The item is a little longer than the size of his hand and it has a pointed bottom. Although Shiro realizes the wrapped item is a knife, he is not the least bit surprised considering all the other random things that has happened in the past year. Moreover, the knife is probably the most normal item Shiro has ever seen from Akira.  
  
Akira hands Shiro the knife and Shiro accepts Akira’s gift without a moment’s hesitation.  
  
“I don’t need it anymore.”  
  
“You sure?” Shiro looks straight into Akira’s rejuvenated amethyst orbs.  
  
Akira smiles and nods.  
  
“I’ll be back.”  
  
He walks out of the store with the small purple box held tightly in his palm.  
  
Shiro now feels that his life is somewhat returned to being normal. He finds peace in knowing Akira is back and here to stay. After months have passed since first seeing Akira, he began to merge Akira and Keith together. The puzzles of those two have begun to fit together revealing one person. Everything makes sense in Shiro’s head now. The shimmering purple eyes and his fluffy, jet black hair are something he can clearly remember unlike years ago. His genuine smiles and laughs are not something Shiro is willing to let go of anymore.  
  
None of the damage from the past matters now and his lifelong mystery is solved, crumpled up and thrown away to the furthest place in his brain. Although Shiro has never confirmed that Keith is now found, he knows deep inside that it is true.  
  
Though, he never says anything about it to Akira. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Reminder of the artists who have collaborated with me:  
> @aether-staza (Tumblr)  
> @bedwithpills (Tumblr)  
> https://aether-staza.tumblr.com/post/167514587450/rekindling-a-forgotten-bond-by-coffeeksare-shiro


End file.
